


Convenient Indecency

by JenovaVII



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenovaVII/pseuds/JenovaVII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Problem: it's six in the morning and Takaba wakes up in heat. Possible solution(s): 1) Make use of his personal yellow-eyed crime lord, or 2) Make use of his personal yellow-eyed crime lord. So, what will it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convenient Indecency

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Mid-Volume 6 - Escape & Love
> 
> A/N: This makes absolutely no sense at all; there's sex and food and photography, is all. Takaba is a simple guy; sate his basic needs and he'll smile that smile at you. It's totally worth it.

Flickering eyelashes opened up to brightness, too much brightness, so they came close again. Even with the precocious light filtering through the veils of curtains, Takaba's brain reckoned it was much too early for said brain to even kick the gear and start functioning. That to say, it was equally too soon for his remaining body parts to wake up but his dick didn't agree, it seemed, as it proudly stood to attention, pinching a hoarse groan filled with sleep from his throat. Waking up horny after dreaming about You-Know-Who all night was anything but unexpected, but that didn't mean he has to _like_ _it_ (though he doesn't mind it has much as he should).

His fingers got slick, his underpants damp, after he jerked off three times and it still didn't take the edge off. It was frustrating and he would have gripped his light-brown locks, even attempt to rip them from their roots if it meant the burn of the pain would pacify the burn of the desire. He _would_ , if he actually believed so would work. Which he didn't. Because it wouldn't not only _not_ cool him down but actually make him undergo the risk of heating up further and _really_ , it was barely morning and he hadn't let anything into his stomach since the afternoon of the day before, resulting in a utter lack of patience to contemplate his masochistic tendencies when he had a raging cock dripping for release. Again.

Fuck. Takaba wanted to fuck. Swiftly elevating himself on his elbows and deciding that if Asami can show up at his apartment to hook up whenever the hell the bastard feels like with smooth, baritone-laced but no less lame-ass excuses of: _"_ _I_ _came_ _to_ _get_ _out_ _of_ _the_ _rain_ _."_ , then he was very much entitled to do the same (only there was no rain for him to get sheltered away from).

*

He spent (not approximately but precisely, and _no_ _,_ _of_ _course_ _he_ _didn_ _'_ _t_ count the seconds while squinting at the wrist watch that he later realized he'd put on the opposite arm) three minutes at the twenty-four-hour pharmacy just by the corner to get a package of extra-large condoms (a feat that gained him a wide-eyed look from the old geezer behind the counter, who maybe has Alzheimer's but by the looks of it still remembered that Takaba not long ago used to buy large without the extra, _the_ _old_ _pervert_ _!_ ) before hurrying to Shinjuku at six-something AM.

Whatever it was he had to cover would occur at ten, and would not wait for him to be present. Being late also meant the day's bento would be on him and, in a good mood or not, he wasn't exactly keen on having to pay for Mitarai's share nor take his shit-eating grin for the rest of the day. It had been sheer luck that he'd woken up on his own - _-_ the damned alarm had the habit of gaining life with the full-moon and switched off of auto-pilot mode on his own, Takaba having to program it manually every time. With a few hours to kill, he had enough time to take care of his 'problem'.

*

The knocking at the door would be deserving of comparison with a crazy person bagging their head against the wall. The thought possessed Takaba for an instant but, in the end, stubbornness kept his key in the smallest pocket of his cloth sack. He mused that maybe banging his traitor of a phallus against the damn thing would make it go down faster (or make Asami _hurry_ _up_ _and_ _open_ _the_ _fucking_ _door_ _already_ ) but he _was_ already there and it was best to make it go down while feeling good instead of becoming unable of getting it up ever again so - _-_

And then there were an amazing pair of bare legs and a Beretta in view. Barely in view, taking into account the black-as-death object was situated perfectly between his eyes. He was too far gone for fear to settle down on him, but there was space to feel a bit insulted.

"Put that thing away, fucker."

A few footsteps away from the entrance, a couple away from the living-room, the weapon was discarded with a fairly loud sound as it made collision with the large glass plate on the bureau. Takaba jumped with feline grace and smashed his lips to Asami's. After the surprise that lasted only a second, or not even, Asami let himself be led by hand to the couch. Takaba made short work of pulling the tight piece of fabric that separated him from the older man's naked warmth down mid-thigh, ripping a square of plastic with teeth and rolling the wet latex over Asami's morning wood.

Asami just lay back, each of his arms parallel to the chair's ones, and watched, aroused and amused, as the boy hastily got rid of jeans (that should have gone into retirement long ago) and briefs (that portrayed some kind of western cartoonish yellow sponge and a pink starfish in compromising situations), not bothering with taking off more than necessary. He was considering leaning over and lighting up a cigarette when the photographer put a leg to each side of him and took a seat on his lap, guiding his cock into his entrance - _-_ top-half dressed _plus_ butt-naked _plus_ wearing one of his dreadful pairs of Chuck Tailors. Asami wanted to make fun of it, at the look of despair on the kid's face, rill him up a bit, receive a few insults and whatnot. Instead, his palms drifted to lean hips and a hint of the first smirk of the day surfaced.

The lubrication on the condom wasn't anywhere near enough but _it had to be_ , what with Takaba's hurry. He took his slow time impaling himself on the perfect cruve of Asami's lenght and getting used to it, inch by inch, all over again.

Asami didn't have to voice it, the younger man saw the question in his amber orbs. The blond tongued at the column of the yakuza's neck, every tiny bump of his muscle pressing into the humid flesh; the wetness of him was salty and he felt like he was licking at the sea, at the ocean itself. Usually he allowed his tongue to glide and probe and taste, but then tied it in a knot and robbed it of words. Today, he felt like when he does when drunk, and his voice forced its way out, between a grunted: _"_ _Woke_ _up_ _all_ _hot_ _."_ ; a gasped _: "_ _T_ _'_ _was_ _no_ _use_ _by_ _myself_ _.";_ and a moan of: _"_ _Needed_ you _."._

Asami had no issues being arisen from bed to satisfy Takaba's urges on what was most likely his rare-as-fuck day off, that much was clear. Not a minute past penetration (though it should have probably been more, just to make sure his ass wouldn't be so sore he wouldn't be able to walk around, between emergency stairs-climbing and roof tops-hopping during the scoop) Takaba sped up, fucking himself on Asami, taking what he wanted as the other man watched him with eyes that don't let anything escape, eyes that make him _hot_ _,_ _so_ _hot_ _,_ _even_ _hotter_ , and then it was a fast, hard ride that left Takaba sated for the rest of the day.

*

He came back at night (and he made use of his key this time).

Because it was closer and he didn't feel like riding the train _,_ he'd murmured as he took off his shoes at the door (which made Asami chuckle around his Dunhil). For someone who'd shamelessly fucked and ran and left a mess of dirt imprints of the soles of his athletic shoes on Asami's pearl-colored rectangles of sparkly-clean floor, Takaba sure attempted (unsuccessfully) to behave properly.

Also, to use up the left-over adrenaline of the day's turmoil (which was code for: _"_ _My_ _bathroom_ _'_ _s_ _a_ _mess_ _,_ _like_ _way_ _more_ _than_ _usual_ _,_ _and_ _I_ _need_ _these_ _photos_ _for_ yesterday _so_ _I_ _'_ _m_ _makin'_ _use_ _of_ your _dark_ _-_ _room_ _that_ _totally_ isn't _meant_ _for_ _my_ _use_ _only_ _."_ ), he'd impetuously clarified without being asked. _"_ _It_ _'_ _d_ _be_ _a_ _waste_ _not_ _to_ _.",_ he'd continued, gruff and flustered, stomping away along the hall. And he was _starving_ (which actually meant he had not a grain of rice left inside his cupboard and had already used up his monthly quota of free-loading off of his circle of friends), he'd added at last.

He went momentarily asthmatic, a surprised wheeze leaving him when Asami's eyes closed and a warm, quiet laugh answered him back. And again, when instead of to the bed he was led to the kitchen, where Asami - _-_ all suit'ed-up and slick-velvet hair (he'd gone to work after all) - _-_ fussed for a moment before laying for him a collection of on-the spot, home-made delicacies that made Takaba's mouth water.

*

Moral of the story: there isn't one. But _,_ _if_ _there_ _were_ , it would be: get your personal crime lord laid in the morning and he'll turn into an iron chef at night.


End file.
